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John hadn't received a response from Bucky in 10 minutes and he was getting annoyed.
He was bored. The tangle of his thoughts had been running rampant for days and by now it was just repetitive and monotonous. It was fucking boring.
Walker had been in bed, shifting around for 15 hours. Alpine had joined him 4 hours into his "bed rot" (Yelena's words, not his) and had swapped back and forth between sleeping on him or yelling at him—definitely Bucky's cat.
Restless and finally finding it within himself to move—spite—he searches for Bucky, Alpine trailing behind him. Throat dry, he heads to the kitchen first, finding no one and grabbing a glass of water. Continuing past the living room, Yelena and Ava watching some weird movie with Bob lounging between them half paying attention while playing The Legend of Zelda on his switch, he goes back towards the bedrooms.
He opens Bucky's door and enters like he owns the place, still half surprised that it'll always unlock for him, and glares at the man laying within the mess of sheets on the bed.
"Dude. Answer my text," Walker huffs, hands on his hips before awkwardly crossing his arms.
Bucky groans, rolling over and slowly rising to glare at John. He blinked, adjusting to the light coming from his doorway, feeling like he hadn't taken a nap at all with how his head was still pounding.
"If you're bored just go elsewhere. I'm sure Ava and Yelena will 'hangout' with you." He grunted and slumped back into a laying position. Maybe if he laid here long enough the Walker in his room would disappear. He waited a beat.
"Why are you still here?" Bucky snapped and sat up again, brushing some of his hair back to really give John a scrutinizing gaze.
John felt his face heat up, ears turning red, not exactly sure what he was doing in Bucky's room. Breaking eye contact, he stares at the ground for a second, like it'll give him the answer or at least break open and swallow him up.
"Uh," stuck standing like an idiot, Walker readjusts his arms, not knowing exactly what to do with them, "Well they- and I-" John huffs again, "What I can't bother my 'team leader' anymore, Sargeant?"
Rolling his eyes, frustrated at himself for being so weird for absolutely no reason, he steps further into the room, looking around. He zones out for a second, long enough for Alpine to start using his pant leg as a scratching post, "Fuck- Ow- Alpine!" and he snags her up from the floor, getting claws in his shoulder in defense. He was half convinced Bucky and Alpine's consciousnesses merged together for a second with how hostile the cat was acting with him.
Bucky cracked a small smile, turning his face to mask the look. His eyes trailed to the window, taking a moment to gaze at the soft drops of rain hitting the glass. The sight made his shoulder's relax as he turned back to John.
"Alright then. What do you want to do?" He asked bluntly, tilting his head in a sort of challenging way. "Are you wanting to train… or talk?"
His eyes narrowed as he assessed John's position. Usually when the blonde man came to Bucky it was to train but that was when his emotions were high. He seemed normal now. It confused Bucky and he hated being confused.
Walker's eyes shot back to Bucky— talk?
"Talk?" Shifting again, John places Alpine back down, needing something to do other than just standing there, and the cat decides she had enough of him, hopping on the bed to join her owner.
"What do we have to talk about, Bucky?" He tries to laugh, coming out soft and fake, and sits in the spot he had just been standing in, one knee up to lean on while the other crossed underneath.
He should leave and stop bothering the older man, but he didn't want to— he didn't want to be alone right now, and if that meant sitting here and annoying Bucky until he kicked him out, he would do that. John could go to the living room, could be bothering the rest of his teammates, but for some reason he was here. John's nothing if not hardheaded and stubborn, he won't backtrack now even if he doesn't know what the hell he's doing; Olivia used to tell him that that was his major flaw, never being able to admit he's wrong.
Resting his cheek against his knee, arms wrapped around his shin, his eyes trail over the bedroom again, taking in the bareness that's only cut off by a random picture frame, before landing on Bucky again, eyes slightly wide and anxious at his awkwardness. He was out of sorts, feels wrong, body unattached from mind and soul, a stifled buzzing beneath his skin kept him tethered.
John just doesn't want to be alone.
Bucky stared at the man who was now sitting on his bedroom floor. It was an odd sight but not an unwelcome one. Instead of speaking, Bucky took a moment to shamelessly stare at John's appearance. The scruffy beard, the casual shirt and pants. It was still so weird for him to see Walker domestically. Weird but once again not unwelcome.
Nudging his arm, Alpine snuck into his lap. Bucky gently pet her head as he considered his next words, not wishing to scare John off.
"Have you been, uh…" An awkward pause, "doing good?"
He winced— if Sam were here, Bucky would be getting pointed at and laughed at. He sounded like a badly trained interviewer, rather than someone actually concerned for John's mental health. Although Bucky was, genuinely, concerned. He had been checking up with the others, Bob mostly, on mental wellness and such but in predictable fashion he hadn't reached out to John hardly at all. It's not that he didn't want to… more like he just didn't want to pry. He had dished out Walker's personal life to the entire team before and he doubted John was in the mood to spill more of it again to him now.
"Uh— I'm fine," John responds too quickly, bumbling slightly at the question. Never knowing how to respond to small talk, Walker throws the question back at Bucky, "How are you?" Voice pitching up at the end, John scrunches his nose and looks away again, missing having Alpine to distract him.
He shifts his position, pulling his other leg in to hug it to his chest, unconsciously making himself smaller. Maybe Bucky would let him just sit here until he felt normal again, but he had his doubts, Walker wasn't even fully convinced Bucky even liked him now, he doesn't think he ever will be.
Chewing on his cheek, John rests his forehead against his knees for second, breathing, before looking back up at Bucky, Alpine lying leisurely on top of him.
"Fine." Bucky replied back blankly, not really happy with John's answer. He had expected a little more but then again this is Walker he's talking to. He scratched the back of his neck, moving to stand up from the bed. Alpine hopped down with a dissatisfied look as Bucky wordlessly walked past John to his closet.
He rummaged around, pulling out a fresh shirt. He was still sweaty from his nap (and the dreams that decide to occur anytime he shuts his eyes) so new clothes were needed. At this point John was like furniture as Bucky strolled past him again to get to the connected bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
John's face went red again at the thought of Bucky shirtless in front of him, just for the man to walk past him like he wasn't even there. Sighing as the door closes, John shuts his eyes, rubbing his forehead against the sweatpants covering his knees.
Walker tightens his grip around himself, content to just be a ghost haunting Bucky's room. He stares at the window, muffled rain reaching his ears like daggers instead of soothing him like usual. He felt overwhelmed, overstimulated, but there was a layer of numbness over top of it, not allowing him to freak out, forcing compartmentalization.
A numbness that spread through his system. Alpine came over flopping on his feet, curling up, and while he was aware it was happening, or had happened, he barely felt it. He's stealing Ava's gimmick, or maybe he'd always been more of a ghost than she was.
Walking out in a new shirt, Bucky finally glanced down at John. He considered asking why the man was still here but opted for sitting slowly down next to him.
His eyes slowly drifted to John's face again— nasty habit. He couldn't necessarily spot what Walker was thinking but Bucky sure had quite a few thoughts of his own. Number one was the question of why John chose to be in his room.
"The rain's nice." Bucky noted, turning his head towards the window. The sky outside remained a foggy blue, his favorite type of weather. He admired the calm of it all.
The warmth of Bucky beside him jolted John out of his brain, side eyeing the man in surprise before sliding back to the window.
Walker hums in agreement. The rain usually forces nap time onto him, the steady beating dragging him into sleep, but nothing has allowed that recently; sleep has become a stranger once again, but it was calming, he could agree with that.
John shifts around, ass numb, contemplating why he was still sat on the floor of James Buchanan Barnes bedroom, when his shoulder briefly brushes Bucky's. He flinches back, half in surprise and the other half knowing that Bucky wouldn't appreciate any kind of touch from him, even accidental. Walker tightens his grip on his knees, knuckles whitening for a second, shifting further from Bucky, making sure his unwanted touch won't happen again—even if all he wanted was to lean into him, soak in his warmth to dissipate the unwarranted chill in his bones.
Staring at the new space from John moving made Bucky frown deeper, shifting his gaze back to the window as if he never looked. He guessed it made sense, John wanting to be away from him. Bucky treated him like shit.
The silence didn't feel awkward— more layered. Running a hand through his hair, Bucky blinked slowly, feeling the pull of tiredness again. Although he knew the dreams that awaited him, which was good fuel to keep up. The idea of slumping asleep in front of John also wasn't the most appealing to him.
"Why are you really here, John?" Bucky finally asked, the curiosity killing him. The need to know was stronger than anything else. He wasn't sure why.
John's eyes widened, even though he knew Bucky would ask him at some point, he was probably already tired of dealing with John's shit even before he went to the bathroom to change. But even if John wanted to tell Bucky, he'd have to be aware of the reasoning himself—accepting of the reasoning himself. The words wouldn't escape his mouth, they'd just roll off the tongue wrong and end up pissing Bucky off probably.
So, Walker settled for a shrug and a mumbled, "I dunno," into his knees. He could just tell the other man he doesn't want to be alone and everyone else was doing overstimulating group activities together (Alexei himself was overstimulating to be around) and he didn't want to ruin the whole teams mood because he's was bored, tired, and miserable. Not like he can blame his mood on anything either, nothing happened— maybe that's an issue, too.
Walker felt his anxiety tick up a degree—or a few—mind running rampant; so many, too fucking many for him to keep up with, the most prominent being that he should leave before Bucky made him, it would hurt less that way. But, he couldn't find it within himself to move from the spot he's in, having made his way back to that rotting stage, the most move he could do was shift and wiggle to find some form of comfort again.
Eyes shutting as he inhales, John continues, voice barely reaching over a whisper, "Sorry for bothering you," but he made no move to leave. Stuck in a glue trap in the bedroom of the last man on Earth who even want him there.
Staring at him for a beat, Bucky let out a loud breath. His mind raced, wondering how he had gotten John thinking he was such a nuisance. Well… the multiple times Bucky had shoved him aside, yelled at him unnecessarily or ignored him altogether might have something to do with it.
"Not bothering me… just not used to you being in here." Bucky decided on saying, scratching his chin. The ground felt solid under him but he wished it was sink sand that would drag him under. He was so bad at being human.
"You don't have to go or anything. No bother to me." He added, as if the first awkward sentence wasn't enough. Jesus— he needed to just stop talking before he admitted he liked Walker's company. Or worse, asked him to stay for the rest of the night.
The rain had stopped, only now did Bucky notice as his eyes searched for a spot to look at that wasn't John. The silence without the rain almost felt more stretching now— longer.
Bucky kept shocking him tonight, having said more words to him in the amount of time he's been sat on his floor than in a typical week. Walker didn't know who avoided who more, but he feels as if he unknowingly broken that truce of Bucky ignoring him while John went out of his way for approval.
John shifts again, planting his hands on the ground like he was going to get up, but didn't. He needed to leave before his dumb mouth fell open and asked Bucky if he could stay.
"Oh—okay," Walker's eyes drifted towards the man, clocking how much Bucky was in his own head, before landing back on the window, just now noticing the lack of rain.
"Are you sure? Cause I can— I can go?" John begged himself to shut up, rambling won't make the anxious tension between them lessen. He knows he'll end up sticking his foot in his mouth and he'll have to leave, "I didn't— I don't have to be here. I'm fine," Walker tries a laugh but it falls flat and he clears his throat, "I don't even know why I came here,"—lie—"Sorry, I'll just—" limbs finally working, he pushes himself to standing, wobbling a second from the rush of lightheadedness. Instead of saying anything, he points his thumb behind him, towards the door, and just stands there, awaiting dismissal.
Bucky shoots up on his feet quick, not even hesitating to grab John's arm in a tight insistent grip. He lets go almost as soon as he grabs, as if John's arm was hot and somehow burned his hand.
"No. No, it's fine." He insisted, his tone sharp and his gaze focused. "Stay."
He worried for a moment that he sounded like an owner trying to train their dog but the urgency was still there. Right now, the thought of John leaving disgusted him. Bucky didn't want to be alone again either.
Bucky's touch hit like a burst of frost, chilling the buzz, the restlessness in his bones. So cold it almost burned; Walker felt a shiver run through him, leaving his hands shaking lightly in its wake.
For the first time in days, his thoughts stilled, locking in on Bucky alone; his hand steady, but tight—enough to let John know he's there, not enough to bruise—present; steel blue eyes, surprisingly hard, steady and open, vulnerable, gazing into his own as if to prove his honesty, eyes' repeating "stay" without a word uttered.
John nodded once, breaking away from the intensity of Bucky's gaze, tracing the man's face. The light from the doorway cast a filter over the scene and Walker couldn't help but think about how beautiful Bucky looked in it; the way the light caressed his cheekbones, dancing across the slope of his nose and lightening his eyes, softening them, his slight stubble and the bedhead that contradicted the lavender shading beneath his eyes, the pink of his lips and the dip of his cupids bow.
For a second John flashes back to when he was last this close to Bucky, grabbing onto the same arm, but to break it instead of hold. The difference astounds him; the tension, the grip, the look.
His pulse sped, heart beating like a hummingbird, stomach caroseling; he felt lightheaded again. Bucky's tongue peaked out to wet his lips, and John copied, a nonverbal command, trailing his eyes back up the brunette's face, noting the light freckles dusting the apples of his cheeks that he missed before—too preoccupied noticing it all.
John gulped, throat bobbing, he didn't know what to say, to do; mind sufficiently fogged by Bucky, made to be more present in this moment than he has been in years weeks.
Dropping his hand– which had still been hovering near, Bucky took a step back. John’s intense gaze made him feel breathless and his eyebrows tilted upward slightly, in a curious but soft empathetic gaze. Suddenly he was hit with the multitude of reasons why John could be there. Ones Bucky hadn’t even considered.
John was looking at him and Bucky wondered what he saw. The tough leader figure of the New Avengers, the congressman who always fumbles his words or the broken soldier who doesn’t even remember some of the names of his family due to how scrambled his mind is. He hoped it was none of that– he hoped John just saw him.
Bucky didn’t even realize he had taken a step forward until he felt the subtle warmth of being close. He let out a soft breath, wondering if John felt it on his face. Bucky stared deeply into those blue eyes, practically swam in them. The coolness of the watery reflection hit him like mist on a foggy evening. He felt doused– awake.
John leans in unconsciously, eye flickering back up and down Bucky's face; cheeks heating, the flush trailing to his collarbones, hidden beneath his t-shirt. It takes him a second to realize Bucky's hand has left him, touch still reverberating through him, ears reddening at how much he missed it; glad to be somewhat shadowed—hopefully—so Bucky couldn't see.
He blinks, remembering himself, and takes a step back, just to meet the wall. Heart hammering, Walker huffs a soft breath, biting the inside of his bottom lip—what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck is going on right now—eyes lingering on the soft pinkness of his lips before dropping back to the mans hand, hovering, then back to those cool blues; entranced, enchanted.
"Don't move." Bucky found himself asking— or maybe begging as he took a step forward. His nose pressed near John's, their breaths mingling together. Bucky wasn't even thinking, fuck thinking.
His hand— the flesh one— came up next to John's head. Trapping him there but Bucky would drop it in a second if he saw hesitation, but there was nothing on John's face except for an emotion Bucky couldn't quite decipher.
"Walker— John, fuck." He breathed out and fought the urge to step back, the urge to step forward and the urge to just merge, whatever that meant. He shut his eyes, willing himself to find some restraint. Trying to think of the cons, the reasons to stop before something unstoppable starts. But the need for John was like a flood. It started with drops of rain and went into an ocean that Bucky was drowning in now. He was in too deep but not in deep enough.
John inhales, eyes shutting as he leans his forehead against Bucky's and against any sort of better judgment he has. The bump of his nose finding home with the slope of Bucky's. Hands find their way to his waist, squeezing the slight softness there, then just resting, holding. He needed this, needs him; if this is all he gets, that would be okay—he would make it be okay.
He rubs his nose against Bucky's; a soft kiss, tingling through John, he wanted more—needed more—but he wouldn't push him, even though he would beg if he could get his mouth to work. He'd be on his knees in a second if there had been space to move, although unwilling to part from Bucky's weight crowding him.
Breath hitching, thoughts rampant again, but instead looping with all the things he wants to do to Bucky—wants Bucky to do to him. He shouldn't—he can't want this, but the ache of desire leaves him trembling; a rush of fire igniting in his veins, flushing across his skin, desperate for more, for everything Bucky's willing to give him.
A feeling bloomed in Bucky's stomach as John's nose touched his own. He moved his head, pressing his face into John's neck and inhaling. His lips brushed the spot as well, lingering against the soft skin there. Every part of John was muscle and sharp features but here— on his neck— Bucky found the skin that felt like smooth fabric under his lips.
"Is this okay?" He asked as he remained unmoving. He needed the permission, although he wondered how far he'd go if he got it. "I need to hear you say it, John."
Bucky pulled up— gazing at John's face intensely. His metal hand trailed John's arm, like a subtle grounding action. He could see the dazed look in the blonde man's face and he knew he already had his consent. Didn't stop Bucky from wanting to hear him gather the words though. Walker had such a beautifully weak tone at times. Bucky wanted to hear it again.
John felt his eyes glaze, pupils dilating, neck burning with Bucky's kiss. His brain slowed, barely processing the question, body automatically nodding—yes, yes, he wants this, he wants all of it so badly—even though that wasn't enough for the older man.
"Please?" John gasps, voice pitching up, while hands trace up and down Bucky's torso, consciously asking for more when he dips his thumbs beneath Bucky's shirt; the temptation of skin and muscle and softness winning over his attempts to not want.
He leans further into the wall, knees weak, needing something to hold him up besides Bucky's vibranium touch chilling the heat of his skin. John blushes deeper, red tinge creeping beneath his collar. He needs Bucky to do something—anything—everything.
Slowly, Bucky leaned forward. His lips pressed against John's in a soft matter, as if he'd scare him off somehow. The gentleness of it all somehow made it all feel so much more intimate. Bucky felt like he was back in high school, experiencing a kiss for the first time. He pressed harder, coming back to himself as the desperation hit.
The greed immediately took over as well, his hands shifting around John as if he was searching for something. His flesh hand took the lead but he could've sworn his mind was making him feel from the metal one too. Bucky didn't want an inch of John to be untouched— he wanted it all now.
The kiss turned more insistent and Bucky reached up to run a hand through John's hair. He pulled lightly but fantasized how sweet it would be to yank it and see Walker's surely wrecked expression.
Fuck.
He pulled away at that— needing to see it himself. His hand settled on Walker's cheek, his thumb gentle rubbing the skin there as he held John's face and stared. His pretty lips were all swollen— Bucky's chest swelled with pride at the knowledge of that being his doing. He couldn't stop looking at John's eyes though, Bucky had never been looked at like that in his life. So much trust in one gaze it made him uneasy.
John moaned lightly under his breath, following Bucky's lips as he pulled away. He couldn't help but lean into the hand caressing his cheek, looking up at Bucky even though he was taller than him. He could see the need in Bucky's icy eyes, feel it in his nervous system, leaving himself vibrating from want.
John squeezed Bucky's hips again, trailing his hands up to rest on the juncture of his neck and collarbones, thumb rubbing gently against the vein there. Walker felt the quickened pace of his pulse, smirking slightly—I did that.
Tongue dipping out, wetting the swell of his lips, he slips his leg between Bucky's, pulling him ever closer, an almost impossible feat as Bucky was already pressed against the heat of his own body. He felt the hardness against his thigh, knowing he had responded in kind a while ago, before Bucky had even pressed his lips to his own.
John's hips buck slightly, rubbing against the thickness of Bucky's thigh, savoring the feeling before doing it again, groaning at the friction.
Goddamn.
The feeling wakes him up, embarrassed at his neediness, he hides in the crook of Bucky's neck returning the kiss there and then adding a few more, tracing up to his jaw, hips still moving slightly despite the humiliation he felt—the wantwinning over again and again.
There was a moment where Bucky froze— the feeling of John against him was bliss. So much all at once yet not enough. It was almost pitiful, the way John pressed against him but Jesus Bucky was addicted.
"Yeah? You need this, don't you." He whispered softly, in a comforting tone— not a judgemental one. Bucky needed it too. He moved them towards the bed, gaze set on it. "I got you, love."
He almost manhandled John as he lightly laid him back, gently but urgent all the same. As soon as John was down, Bucky was all over him. His lips latched back onto John's neck with a sense of primal need this time, sucking a dark bruise into a spot that seemed to have John shaking under him. Bucky's hands drifted and pushed John's thighs apart so that he could settle himself in between them.
Now Bucky was letting out a low grunt as he felt himself press against John, one of his hands gripping the sheets beside John's head. He let himself get lost in it for a moment— Fuck, John looked like art beneath him.
John hummed, panting lightly at the feeling of Bucky all over him, on top of him. It was all too much and not enough, he wants—needs more; needs it all. The pressure between his legs grew at the feeling of Bucky's dick pressed against his own; he wiggled, dragging his hips up, then down, over and over.
He felt trapped, overheated, he needed his pants off, he needed Bucky's pants off, he needed Bucky inside him—moaning at the thought, he starts to tug at Bucky's t-shirt impatiently. He needed to feel him, feel the flush of his skin against him.
"Bucky—" John's breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut at the small whimper that sneaks out, "Please I—" he can't say it, wrapping his legs around the dip of Bucky's lower back, using his strength to push the man flush against the throbbing in his pants and the curve of his ass, hoping to get the point across.
"Patience, Walker." Bucky grunted and grabbed for the other man's shirt. He attempted to pull it over John's head but got aggravated— just ripping the fabric off. "Sorry."
He wasn't that sorry.
His mouth was trailing down John's chest with greed, the new skin offering a whole new canvas for Bucky. He took a moment to run his tongue over John's pecks, coaxing noises from him which made Bucky smirk a smug grin.
He moved further down, hands delicately messing with John's sweatpants just to piss him off a little. He latched his finger in the hem, slowly pulling it down with a sharp gaze. Every new inch of skin fueled him.
"So fucking pretty." Bucky mumbled as he bent back to peel the sweats entirely off. The boxers came next without much hesitation. He had to pause after that, gaze trailing the skin of John's legs and his dick, Fuck. Bucky's hand rested on John's thigh and he bent down, kissing a few spots there.
Shuddering, the touch and Bucky's words, the tone of his voice only make him harder, cock blushed like the rest of him, pre-cum beading down from the tip.
John pouts at the slowness, wrecked at the worship—because that's what Bucky is doing; touching, licking, kissing, caressing. He whines, deep in the back of his throat, threading fingers through the brunette hair, tangling before reaching lower, hand resting, grabbing the back of Bucky's neck trying to drag him back up, needing to meet his lips again.
"Bucky— come on," he felt greedy, desperate. Bucky gave him more than he could ever ask for, but now it's not enough, hips bucking up to meet air.
He whines, again, too overtaken by the promise of pleasure to feel too embarrassed, "Please, Bucky."
Bucky tilted his head with interest. John's begging was cute but he wanted to take his time with this— he didn't know if this would ever happen again. His hand trailed John's length, giving him a few slow caresses before he spread his legs more to trail his touch down to John's hole. He lightly pushed a finger against it testingly.
"You ever done this before?" Bucky asked and tilted his head up sharply, gaze hardened as he got serious. This would be wonderful and God he wanted to hurry it up but he wasn't willing to risk hurting John. This had to be good for both of them.
He moved back towards John's face, hands moving to either side of him as he leaned to kiss him one more time— for good measure.
Leaning into the kiss, dragging it out for a second while deciding how he should answer. He pulls back just enough to nod, not meeting Bucky's eyes.
"A few times— Liv- she-" he cuts himself off, embarrassed again, and turns his head to the side, buried in the pillow, kissing Bucky's wrist to distract himself.
"Yeah?" Bucky mumbled, letting out a breath. He used his hand to gently tilt John's face back towards him, admiring the pretty blush he had. He parted John's lips, slipping two fingers into his mouth.
"Be good and suck on these, yeah?" He muttered and used his other free hand— the vibranium one— to tug off his shirt, letting his fingers fall from John's mouth for a short moment before putting them back in. Bucky had gotten so caught up in it he had forgotten he was still mostly clothed.
His free hand unbuttoned his jeans now, doing some smooth motion to move them and his boxers down his legs and out of the way.
John moaned around the fingers, salivating at the weight against his tongue, sucking and licking them; almost too distracted to notice Bucky finally removing his own clothes. He groaned again at the sight of Bucky's bare chest and thighs, hands reaching up to cup at his pecs, rubbing over the buds of his nipples, and feels the man squirm slightly at the feeling.
He wants to be good for Bucky—so good for him—but he can't fight the pure need welling up in him, the need to touch and worship Bucky's body. His brain can barely track where his hands wander, chest and stomach and hips and back and shoulders and Bucky's fingers in his mouth.
John's mind chanting for more, wanted to know how Bucky felt deep inside of him, hips jutting up to rub their dicks together, the slow drag drawing out a muffled whimper. Eyes wide and begging, the black of his pupils encompassing the surrounding sky blue.
Now it was Bucky moaning a bit as he pulled his fingers slowly out of John's mouth, trailing them to his entrance to press one finger in slowly.
"Relax." He whispered as he pressed another finger in, stretching John carefully. With his fingers still inside, Bucky reached over to a drawer beside his bed, pulling out some lube which he was glad he still had. His metal hand teased John's cock with occasional cold strokes as he worked him inside.
Bucky spat onto his hand, using the new liquid to add another finger to be sure. John was a mess but still taking him so well, it made Bucky smile slightly.
John wiggled, the thickness of Bucky's fingers working him open, legs spreading further, allowing him deeper. He bites at his bottom lip, eyes rolling at the feeling, fluttering when Bucky brushes over his spot.
Moans caught in his throat at each finger added, but still not enough, not what he wants. He shoves his hips down, small thrusts, practically fucking himself on Bucky's fingers as the man dragged it out nice and slow.
He starts mouthing at Bucky's throat, one hand laced in the other man's hair while the other grabbed and scratched at the muscles in his back. Rambling between kisses, saying more in this moment than he has in days,
"Bucky- I need you-" he pants, "You're so- ngh beautiful, feel so good," nibbling and licking at the scars connected to Bucky's arm and then trailing back up to the stubble beneath his jaw, "I need you in me- Please-" he pulls back just enough to look up into Bucky's own dilated gaze, pouting slightly, still fucking himself on the man's fingers, "Please?"
"How could I say no?" Bucky said and pulled back to pour some of the lube onto his hand and pump it onto himself.
He lined himself up with John, pushing inside him slowly. The feeling was addictive— the warmth embracing him as Bucky sunk into it. John was tight, but continued to take him well.
"Fuck." Bucky let out as he bottomed out, leaning into John fully, with his head on John's neck. He breathed slowly as he gave it a minute before slowly moving back out and back in. He pulled back to look at John's face, smirked at what he saw and began an experimental thrust.
John head fell back into the pillows, Bucky's scent surrounding him, mouth hung open, moan falling out loud and unbidden. Legs returned to their spot, hooked across the small of Bucky's back, dragging him deeper inside him, locking him there.
Bucky's cock filling him, his eyes stuck on John's face as he slowly thrust into him, and it still wasn't enough. He started rolling his hips, trying to find the angle that'll get him fucking into his prostate, he shivered with the need, the ache.
"Mngh," he whines, pinching at Bucky's nipple to piss him off, "More." John thrusts up to brush the tip of his cock against Bucky's stomach, eyes lidded, biting his lip at the pleasure of it, the slight relief.
Bucky moved John's legs so that they were against his shoulders now. He got deeper as he quickened his pace, losing his control over himself. He could tell the exact moment he hit that golden spot for John, feeling the man practically shake beneath him.
He made sure to keep hitting there, groaning with the pleasure and using his free hand to pump John's needy cock— rubbing his thumb on the tip. He wanted to make this good, make it so good that John could never be fucked by anyoneever again without thinking about how good Bucky was. Bucky wanted to ruin sex for him, nobody else needed.
John's legs shook behind Bucky's neck, thighs clenching as Bucky hit his spot repeatedly, thrusting so deep John could feel him in his stomach. The warmth, the weight overwhelms him, brain static, sight whiting out as Bucky teases his tip.
"Oh god— mngh— oh fuck," moaning uncontrollably, John moves his hips as best he could to match the thrusts, wanting Bucky impossibly deeper; needing to cum but never wanting this to end. He wants to be good for Bucky, so good that he wants to live inside John forever.
John reaches, hands cradling Bucky's face, thumbs smoothing out the lines there, daring to pull him close enough to kiss again. He moans into the other man's mouth, pressing his lips against the others before intently licking inside, tasting him.
He breaks the kiss when Bucky pounds against his spot repeatedly, head thrown back, baby blues fluttering and rolling, uncontrollably thrusting up into Bucky's fist, tip dragging against the man's slight pudge.
It all felt too good, it couldn't stop, it couldn't end, but John felt close to bursting, cock throbbing and aching with each jerk of Bucky's hand and hips; he had to cum, needed it.
Unable to look away from John's expressions, Bucky tested different paces, watching the man beneath him unfold. It was riveting, engrossing to see the way John squirmed. Bucky fought the urge to say some smart ass comment like, 'All this time… maybe you just needed my dick to shut you up.'
He refrained, instead pumping John more urgently.
"You getting close? It's okay, love, whenever you want."
He offered some permission, if Walker needed it. He was being so obedient so Bucky assumed. He could feel himself reaching that release, part of him addicted to the idea of staying inside as he finished. Filling him up.
As soon as Bucky gave him to go ahead, John felt the pressure building further, peaking, like lava trying to erupt. John nods, eye squeezing shut as he cums all over his and Bucky's stomachs, moans tapering off into whimpers.
The thrusts continue, overstimulated his wrecked body, but he didn't want him to stop. He wanted Bucky to cum from the feeling of him, legs shaking as he locks him in, wanting him to fuck him through his own orgasm, paint his insides. He mouthed at Bucky's neck, sucking red spots on his chest, marking him. Mine.
John pants, mind numb, "Cum for me, baby— wanna feel you," unlatching from Bucky's skin, he stares up at the man through half lidded eyes, thumb brushing against the red of his cheek. He looks so pretty like that, blissed out, close to cumming, all because of John.
He felt Bucky's hips stutter as he got closer and closer to release, Walker fighting off moans of pain and pleasure as his tip dragged against his overstimulated prostate, stomach brushing over his still half hard dick, Bucky's ministrations keeping him from softening any more.
With one more push in, Bucky felt himself finish, his cum warm around his cock as he emptied himself out into John. His breathing slowly as he slumped onto John a bit, taking a minute to breath. That haze was still there— what they had done hadn't fully set in yet.
Bucky didn't want it too. He didn't want the awkwardness that came with this, he wanted nothing to change.
Okay, that's a lie.
He wanted everything to change. He had felt John and now he couldn't even imagine losing him. His heart raced as he registered that maybe he was in this way deeper than he had thought— in more ways than one, literally.
John groans,"Bucky— legs, my fucking hips- can you?"
"Shit— sorry." Bucky pulled back, suddenly doused in the reality of it as he realized he had formed John into some sort of taco, ironically. He pulled out, the cool air hitting him and he blinked as he suddenly, at the age of 110 years old, felt like a teenager. He rushed to the bathroom when he registered the cum still dripping down his stomach and also realized John had a similar situation so he grabbed about 80 paper towels. Screw it— he grabbed the whole roll.
He came back all proud and with some of them wet, blinking at the form of John, who was breathing slowly like he was asleep on the bed. Bucky stared for a moment before wiping him off gently, cleaning him up with gentle care. Once both of them were spotless, he dropped the paper towels into the trash, mentally reminding himself to take that out before someone else comes into his room and sees it.
He turned towards the doorway— Oh fuck.
"Why are there— Oh." Yelena stopped mid sentence as her eyes met Bucky's and with Ava standing next to her. There was a beat where they looked horrified at each other, before Ava's eyes trailed down and suddenly Bucky was lunging at the door like an animal and slamming it in their faces.
"Was that John on the bed?" Ava asked after the door was shut, wiping her eyes as if to cleanse them from what she had just witnessed.
"WHAT?" Yelena grabbed her arm and their footsteps could be heard walking away as Bucky leaned his head on the shut door, groaning.
"Hmm?" John opens one eye to peer at Bucky, the noise pulling him from a restful sleep, "What was that, baby?"
Bucky turned to him, walking away from the door with an exhausted look— and not from the sex per say. He laid back down on the bed, pulling John to his chest and mumbling a quick, "Nothin'."
Contentedly sighing, John wiggles, pressing further into Bucky's skin, sleepily trying to merge them.
"Hmm, okay," he mutters, grabbing the hand wrapped around him, placing a soft kiss to his palm, before placing it against his stomach, lacing his fingers between Bucky's.
Body limp and comfortable, he lets himself start to succumb to sleep before his overthinking takes over. He missed being held, and the safety he feels within Bucky's arms is all encompassing.